


Never Shoot A Jobberknoll

by Kelimian (gwenynnefydd)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Fluff, Jewish Jacob Kowalski, Jewish Leta Lestrange, Jewish Tina Lestrange, Multi, Racebending, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2020-02-28 09:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18753526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenynnefydd/pseuds/Kelimian
Summary: It's the 1930s. Paychecks are low, race relations are lower. Newt Scamander strives to become a renowned magizoologist, but his escape to America didn't give him the break he was after. But after a happenstance meeting with Jacob Kowalski, a Jewish aspiring baker, things may just be starting to look up...ORA racebent rewrite of FBAWTFT.(repost)





	Never Shoot A Jobberknoll

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this in 2016, but ended up abandoning it as I lost interest in the TBAWTFT fandom. Decided to reupload it so I could keep it around somewhere.

Chapter 1: Acromantula

“Mr Newt? I have your new caselist.”

The office was cramped, messy and rather dark. One small window opened like a porthole on one wall, and a few candlestubs flickered on top of cupboards. The radio crooned away in the tiny space, the magic keeping it going thankfully not sputtering out for once in its life. The desk it sat on was occupied by a tawny man, tall and gangly with dark ginger hair that frizzed into chin-length locs. He sat staring out the window, the shadows of the leaves painting a dapple of shadow across his face. The nameplate on his desk stated "Mr Newton Scamander, Consultant".

“Thanks, Zhou.” Newt replied distractedly, staring out the window. “Just put it on the desk, would you?”

“Of course.” Zhou neatly cleared a place on the desk. “Are you dreaming again?”

“Nothing wrong with that. Don’t you dream?”

“I dream that one day I’ll be treated like the valid member of the International Confederation Of Wizards that I am, rather than just an errand girl, but that’s just a pipe dream. Much like yours, I suspect.”

Newt sighed. “I came here to be a consultant magizoologist. And here I am, doing the drudgery! I mean, look here-” He indicated to the sheet. “I haven’t even read it and I know it’s going to be pants. Gerald-my co-worker, Gerald, you know - he’s took a look first, I take it?”

“Probably.”

“He’s probably taken something interesting, like an Erumpent horn, or stolen dragon eggs. And what have I got?” He took a look at the paper below, and snorted before sweeping it off the desk. “Spiders.”

“Acromantula aren’t just spiders, as you very well know.” Zhou picked up the paper from where it fluttered to the floor. “But you’ll just have to do them until you can strike out on your own.”

Newt sighed. “Is there anything else The Powers That Be want?” As he said that, his hair receded into a balding grey bowlcut, and his face broadened into a squat toad like visage, similar in look to his erstwhile co-worker. Zhou’s lips twitched.

“Well, they want you to stop using your Metamorphmagi abilities to imitate and amuse the delegates.”

Newt’s head returned to normal as he snorted. “The delegate for Egypt loved it.”

“But it wasn’t directly related to your job, so they want you to stop.”

“Fine.”

“Also they want to remind you that the coloured bathroom is the third on the right, not the second.”

That made Newt groan, and he rolled his head back. “There are three bathrooms nearby and Gerald and I are the only ones who use them.” he grumbled. “He does not need two white bathrooms.”

“I know.” Zhou smiled, sympathetically. “But you know how white folk get about bathrooms. They had to have a two hour discussion to decide which bathroom I should use. Now come on - you’ve got spiders to clear, and I’ve got delegates to hassle.”

Newt barked out a laugh, and took the paper from Zhou’s hands, the parchment a clear cream against his dark hands. With a nod, she left the room, and Newt turned to the report sheet. The radio swung into an upbeat song as he began to read.

BREAK

At first, Newt had thought Gerald had given him the wrong address, because this place was far too small for an Acromantula infestation.

The house was a small, plain high-rise block of flats, narrow and higgledy piggledy as if the builder had forgotten that houses normally go straight vertically and instead built along the tops of the other houses. Various linens and clothes were hung out to dry out of the windows, the sound of the radio drifted through the air, and a bicycle was chained to the fence that surrounded the front flowerbeds, which were filled with tiny pink flowers.

Newt parked his own bicycle next to the other fence, and pulled out the report again to re-read it. There was no mistaking it - this was definitely the right place. Flat 3, it said in brick-like black ink, suspected to have an infestation of Acromantula. Locate source, remove as necessary. The client, Jacob Kowalski, is non-magical - request assistance of the Obliviators following removal.

Last time Gerald had sent him after Acromantula, it turned out to be a large happenstantial hoard of money spiders that Newt was forced to clear the muggle way. He distinctly hoped Gerald was not mistaken this time. And distinctly hoped he could get rid of the things without needing the Obliviators. All Obliviator requests had to go through the Head Auror office, and if there was anyone who got on his nerves more than Gerald, it was Head Auror Percival Graves and his smug cronies.

He jogged up to the bright blue front door, and gave it a sharp rap. Immediately he could here rumblings of noise inside - frantic shuffling, heavy bootsteps, mutterings of a language Newt didn’t recognise - before the door opened a crack, and a wizened old woman peered suspiciously through the gap at him.

“Hello.” Newt said pleasantly. “I’m Mr Scamander - Wildlife Control. I’m looking for Jacob Kowalski?”

The woman’s face was a blank mask until Jacob’s name was mentioned, where it sprung into a look of recognition. She shut the door, and Newt could hear her scurrying back into the house, calling out in an almost melodic language. There were more heavy bootsteps, more speaking, before the door opened again.

Jacob Kowalski was not at all what Newt had been expecting. An inch shorter than he was, Jacob stood almost proudly if front of him, darkly bearded chin tilted upwards and brown eyes considering him. His black hair, wild and curly as it was, was tied back, and his rotund belly was clothed in a plain white shirt and braces, the colour of which complemented his terracotta skin quite nicely. Newt had to stop his curly hair from changing colour in interest.

“Hello.” Newt repeated, mentally rewinding his script. “I’m Mr Scamander - Wildlife Control. Are-”

“Oh, you’re here for the spiders!” Jacob’s voice was bright and clear as a bell.

“Y-yes, I am.” Newt was thrown a little off-kilter by the interruption. “Are you Jacob Kowalski?”

“That’s me.” he smiled. “Come in, come in - they’re just upstairs…”

Jacob ushered Newt into the house and shut the door behind him. He lead Newt through the narrow hallway, up through into the stairwell, the banisters of which were also covered in clothes. Up, up they climbed, Jacob chattering all the while.

“They’ve nested in the far end of the bathroom.” he was saying. “Now, I’m used to big spiders - we had them all the time in the Union - but these are very different to the ones I’ve seen.”

“In what way?” Newt asked, stopping momentarily to pick up and rehang a sock that had fallen off the banister.

“They… don’t act like ordinary spiders. It’s strange. I mean, birds are more my interest, but even to me they act strange.”

“Strange?”

“They move around a lot, I’ve noticed that - most spiders sit and wait for prey, or they move if they’re in danger. They’re also very social, in that the way their pincers click is like they’re… talking?”

Definitely sounded like Acromantula. Newt nodded once. “I think I know what it is. Is this the door?”

“Yes, in here…”

Jacob’s flat was a slightly untidy affair, with the floors swept and the shelves neat, but the coffee table was strewn with papers, pens and half drunk coffee cups. A briefcase was situated on the left end of the table, opened and lined with greaseproof paper, with a smattering of crumbs inside. A slight scent of freshly baked something wafted out from an open door to their left, and Newt’s nostrils flared a little in interest.

“Oh, excuse me a moment-” Jacob scurried into the open door, and Newt followed, curious. He stepped into what was a very small, quaint kitchen, and watched as Jacob donned a pair of pink oven mitts, opened the oven with a whoosh, and slowly pulled a baking tray full of doughnuts out of a ramshackle oven.

“I didn’t expect you until later this evening.” he explained, carefully setting the tray on a wire rack. “Your associates, who came before - they didn’t come until before six.”

“It’s quite alright.” Newt propped himself up against the counter, and peered down at the slightly steaming doughnuts. “These look good. I’ve never met a man who cooks.”

“My mother’s recipe.” Jacob all but beamed. “She taught me all that I know. I’d like to start a bakery - I normally take these to show investors to get a loan, but… well, you know how they treat people like us.”

Newt nodded, but remained silent. Jacob looked at the cakes, and sighed deeply, before removing his oven mitts and hanging them back over the handle of the oven.

“Well, I guess I’ll keep trying.” he said. “And if I don’t get anywhere before the new year, I guess they’ll make good Hanukkah food. I’ll show you the spiders now...”

He led Newt out of the small kitchen and across to another door. This one was shut, and locked - Jacob pulled a small key attached to a length of rope from around his neck, and unlocked the door. Newt could see the problem almost immediately when the door swung open - in the tiny bathroom, around the tap of the metal bath, was a massive collection of Acromantula spiders, each the size of a splayed hand. They had been moving, but they stopped as soon as the door opened, and Newt saw several pairs of beady eyes peering out at him.

“Ah-ha.” Newt approached slowly, and crouched down next to the tub. “Hello there…”

“They turned up about two weeks ago.” he heard Jacob say behind him. “No idea how, there’s no window here…”

“But there is a gap - there.” Newt pointed to a gap in one of the ceiling corners, above the toilet. “I’m almost certain they came through that - together, this type of spider is a pack animal. And therefore, that crack will lead us straight to the nest, to their mother.”

“Mother?” Jacob could barely keep the horror out of his voice. “Those are babies?”

“Well, children. They’re still rather small - they’re normally bigger.”

“Bigger?”

“Much bigger.” Perhaps finally noticing horror in Jacob’s voice, Newt turned and tried to give a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry - I’ll get them out of here. You’ll have your bathroom back soon enough.”

“How will you do that?” Jacob did not sound reassured. “They’re a bit big for a cup and paper job.”

“I think, with these… I’ll need to stun them, and then move them.” Which needed magic, Newt thought privately to himself. Which meant he’d have to contact the Obliviators, and therefore Percival Graves, after all.

Drat.

“What will you stun them with - some kind of gas? Pesticide? It won’t hurt anyone downstairs, will it?” Jacob asked, eyeing the spiders.

“I… have a way of sealing the gas in, so it won’t affect anyone in the building.”

“Sealing? You’ll seal the door shut?”

“In a way.” He hesitated. “It’s going to look rather strange - I need you not to panic though, alright?”

Jacob looked at him for a long moment, before slowly nodding his head.

“Alright.” Newt breathed in, and out. “Go and stand outside the door.”

He waited until Jacob had left, before putting his plan into action. He withdrew his wand, and quickly tapped the crack in the wall, watching as it sealed itself up. Now aware of the growing crescendo of angry clicks as the spiders realised their route back to the nest was now compromised, Newt reached into his pocket and withdrew a small vial, filled with a bright magenta liquid. As the angry clicks reached fever pitch, Newt quickly smashed the vial against the floor. A bright pink mist erupted from the cracked vial, and Newt ran from the room, mouth covered and coughing. He kicked the door shut as he left, and ignoring the slightly shocked look Jacob was giving him, he pointed his wand at the shut door and shouted-

“Conprimo!”

The door glowed briefly, and the pink fumes, that had started to seep out of the room, became clogged up in the gaps near the hinges and the base of the door, giving it an eerie pink glow. Jacob opened and closed his mouth a few times, before approaching the door and trying to lay a hand on it, marvelling at how he couldn’t even touch the door through the wall of magic.

“I… wh-what was that?” Jacob finally sputtered out, patting the door in ill-disguised awe.

“Magic.” Newt stowed his wand away. “I’m a wizard, and those spiders are magical creatures.”

“You’re pulling my leg.” There wasn’t any bite to the accusation - Jacob was still amazed by the door.

“No - you can see what I did to the door. I fixed your wall too.”

“That’s brilliant.”

Newt laughed a little, and grinned. “I suppose it is, isn’t it? Come on - do you want to see how big those things can get?”

“The mother’s nearby?” That seemed to shatter Jacob’s awe, and he was back to looking horrified again.

“I have a feeling it’s upstairs.” Newt jogged back towards the front door, indicating with a wave that Jacob should follow him. “Does anyone live there?”

“Not anymore.” Jacob hurried after him, shaking his head as Newt bounced out the door and up the stairwell. “There was a guy - he moved out about three weeks ago. You don’t think… he brought them here?”

“He may have been a wizard, trying to smuggle Acromantula eggs - they’re a very precious commodity in our world. Looks like he left one behind...” Newt reached the door, and rattled the door handle, as Jacob puffed his way up to him. “Drat, it’s locked- hold on- Alohamora!”

The door swung open on creaky hinges, and Newt went in, ignoring Jacob’s disapproving frown. The room was dark, but with a quick lumos, Newt lit up the room, revealing the clearly hastily abandoned room, with overturned chairs and a plethora of spiders webs in every corner. A crack was clear in the floorboards, obviously the entrance for the spiders to get to Jacob’s bathroom, but behind that was something even more interesting - two giant Acromantula spiders.

“They’re massive.” Newt heard Jacob whisper over his shoulder. “Absolutely huge.”

“And hungry, judging by the clicking.” Newt began to edge back towards the door. “Get down the stairs - I don’t want you hurt. The adults are faster and more deadly than the children.”

Jacob scurried out, and Newt drew his wand and a second vial. But the spiders began to step menacingly towards him, obviously able to guess what was about to happen to them. Newt shot a repairing spell at the crack in the floor, but before he could hurl the vial towards them, they pounced upon him, pincers already clicking and dripping with venom. Newt was knocked to the floor, the vial skidding out of his hand and smashing open against an upturned chair. But it would take effect to late - it would knock Newt out first, leaving him to be sitting prey to the hungry spiders.

The fumes seeped into his airways, and Newt struggled to battle the spiders and the dizziness. But just as he thought he was done for, he felt hands wrap under his arms and hoist him backwards out of the door. Jacob was behind him, a black and white check teatowel wrapped around his mouth. As Jacob dragged him across the threshhold of the nest, Newt managed to pull the door shut with his toes, and cast a very dazed Conprimo at the door. There was a loud double thud, as the oversized spiders crashed into it, followed by some desperate scrabbling, many angry clicks, before the noise subsided, and Jacob and Newt were left panting on the landing floor.

“Right.” Jacob said, gathering his wits. “Right, Mr Scamander - put your legs up, you look like you’re about to faint.”

“Wha…?”

“Come on - you may be magic, but we treat the symptoms of gas exposure in the same way. Legs up!” Jacob manhandled him into position, hanging his lanky legs over the banister with only minimal protesting wiggling from Newt. Newt stared up at the ceiling, watching the slightly irregular patterns twist and coil until they settled into the normal straight lines, and his stomach settled to back to normal. As he came back to feeling somewhat like his ordinary self, he realised that Jacob was speaking, but he couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

“Pardon?” he asked, turning his head to look at Jacob. Jacob turned to him, and gave a smile.

“Just talking to Josephine downstairs.” he said quietly. “She was wondering about the noise.”

“What did you say?” Newt said, sitting up a little.

“Told her there were rats. Didn’t think I should’ve told her about the giant spiders.”

“Acromantula. That’s their name, acromantula.”

“Acromantula.” Jacob paused for a moment. “I’m guessing I shouldn’t say anything about this to anyone? The magic, and all that?”

“No. We keep it secret - had some bad experiences when we practiced freely.”

“Of course. Is this a common thing?”

“Fairly?”

“And we… is there a word for non-magical folk?”

“Back home, we call them ‘muggles’. Though I hear around here you’re ‘no-majes’.”

“No-maj is a nicer term than muggle, I think. But truly, do all no-majes keep quiet about this?”

Jacob hesitated to reply, but Jacob was watching him curiously, and Newt was still not in his best mindset, and honestly if the Obliviators needed to catch him they could…

“There’s… a spell.” Newt said slowly. “It makes you forget.”

Jacob sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s sorcery, there.”

“It’s what we’ve had to do to survive.”

“I suppose.” Jacob was quiet again. “Is that what they’re going to do to me? Make me forget?”

Newt looked at him, took in the slightly worried face, thought about having to face Percival Graves’ sneering face, and made a decision.

“No. I trust you. I won’t let you forget.”

 

  
  
Chapter 2: Barn Owls

Central Park was fine this time of year. The trees shifted and shook in the breeze, blowing off their final red-gold leaves to make way for the oncoming winter. The grass was wet, glistening, a bright olive green that glimmered in the late afternoon sunshine. Newt sat on a bench facing the deep turquoise lake, on top of which sailed many little boats and other craft, much to the consternation of the local duck population.

Newt had often taken this route when leaving work, enjoying the quietness and the routine of the walk. Many of his colleagues forewent the journey, feeling that it was more for the No-Majes than them, but Newt disagreed. The colours, the atmosphere, the ponds and lakes… There was something about the air here that tingled with some kind of natural magic, magic that both no-majes and magical folk could enjoy. Plus, it really annoyed some of his higher uppers.

In fact, Jacob had joined him on this journey. It seemed that the magic fascinated him, and after his show of Portkeying the Acromantula out of Jacob’s home (“They vanished! They just _vanished!”_ ), he’d asked to learn more about it. Newt had then offered to take him to Central Park, Jacob accepted, and off they went. Newt hadn’t even had the time to check in and clock out of the office - not that he particularly cared anyway. Currently, Jacob had toed off his shoes and socks, and was stood ankle deep in the pond, peacefully feeding the ducks with some stale rolls he’d found in the back of his kitchen. The ducks themselves had crowded around him in a small fleet, obviously trusting him.

“Those ducks look like they know you well.” Newt remarked, from his position on the bench. “Do you come here often?”

“Once a week, at least.” Jacob replied, carefully shredding up another roll. “Always had a way with birds - used to nurse shot starlings back to full health, back in Bukharan when I was a boy.”

“That’s adorable.” Newt laughed. “I used to do the same - except my birds were barn owls, and they _hated_ being inside. Got a couple of nasty bites before Father taught me how to handle them.”

“Were there no birds like ducks in your world? Anything you could go out and feed as child?”

“Not really.” Newt stretched out a little across the bench. “Most of our animals are either very aggressive or have the common sense not to come anywhere near us. Well, except maybe Puffskeins, or Flobberworms.”

“You’re speaking in tongues.” Jacob laughed, throwing some more bread. “Are those animals?”

“Pests more like. Flobberworms are similar to… slugs, I think. A cross between slugs and earthworms. And puffskeins are just eternally pregnant balls of fur. Functionally useless, but very cute.”

“What about birds? Tell me about your birds.” Jacob paused to get another roll out of his pocket. “Preferably not deadly ones.”

Newt grinned. “Don’t give me permission like that - I’ll talk your ear off.”

“I’m happy to listen to you prattle on about birds - though if you move onto frogs, I’ll have to stop you.” Jacob shuddered. “Not my cup of tea.”

“I shan't tell you about the giant magical snakes we have then.” Jacob laughed in response, a deep, comforting sound.

“Come on, pick a bird. Any bird.”

“Alright…” Newt thought for a moment. “What do you know about the dodo?”

“The dodo?” Jacob frowned. “That’s not very magical.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.” Newt leant forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “What if I told you it was still alive?”

“Then I’d say you should get your head checked.” Jacob examined some of the roll, before throwing it into the water. “We killed it off, didn’t we? Hundreds of years ago - I heard it on the radio.”

“Not quite. You remember how I made those Acromantula vanish?”

“Yes.”

“See, Dodos, or Diricawls as we called them, can do the same thing. Vanish. Poof, in a flurry of feathers." Newt snapped his fingers. "Wholly naturally, too. So when you started hunting them...”

“They recognized us, and vanished whenever we turned up.” Jacob finished, staring out across the lake. “Golly. It’s been alive all this time?

“Well, supposedly. It’s only been sighted a few times in the last century - there’s a suspicion that magical folk managed to kill all of them off.”

“And you magical folk didn’t think to ask us to help protect it?”

Newt hesitated, battling with himself as to how to talk about the reasoning behind the decision, then ploughed on. “It’s… an awkward situation. Many magical folk think that we should be responsible for you no-majes, in a kind of paternalistic way.”

“Paternalistic.” Jacob’s voice was flat. “Like we can’t look after ourselves. You didn’t tell us about the dodo because you wanted to teach us a lesson.”

“There’s some prejudice against no-majes as well, which doesn’t help.”

“Because they think they’re better than me. People like me.”

“That, and a 500 year grudge against the Witch Hunts.”

“I suppose us humans can’t be perfect.” Jacob sighed, and threw the ducks the last of the bread. He climbed out of the lake and came to join Newt on the bench, shaking the excess water from his feet. “Come on, tell me - how bad is it?”

Newt drew a face in response. Jacob laughed humorlessly, and spread himself out on the bench.

“I should’ve guessed. Should’ve _guessed._ ”

“It’s not too bad.” Newt tried to offer, but Jacob gave him an unimpressed look.

“We might’ve only known each other for a few hours, but I already know you’re a _horrendous_ liar.”

“Yes, alright, it’s _bad._ ” Newt shuffled a little on the bench. “There’s a horrific attitude towards no-majes, a terrible one towards magical folk from no-maj families, violence against both of them is rising and we’re on the brink of a war lead by a an absolute bigot that half our world supports!”

There was a moment of tense silence. Newt hadn’t realised how loud he was speaking until he had stopped, and noticed Jacob looking at him with wide eyes. He flopped back against the back of the bench, and took a deep breath, trying to reign in his temper.

“Sorry.” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have shouted.”

“It’s alright.” Jacob said quietly. “Touchy subject, I take it?”

“Yes. It’s… nevermind. Too personal.”

There was silence again. The ducks on the lake, now realising there was no more food, began to swim away towards the other families on the lake, who had thankfully taken no mind to Newt’s outburst and were happily chatting and playing by the water’s edge. Newt watched one particular family who sat across the lake - two young parents, wrapped in colourful scarves, and a tiny toddler. The father was knelt by the the shore, pointing out the boats that sailed across it to the happily giggling toddler. The toddler clapped her chubby hands, shrieking as her father splashed the water near her. The mother watched, smiling, but very suddenly frowned - Newt looked back towards the child, who was now gaping openly, pointing at a big black shadow that glided over the surface of the lake.

A big dark shadow that was heading towards Newt.

A big dark shadow that looked very much like an _owl_.

“Oh _no_.” Newt whispered. Jacob looked at him with concern, but there was no time - Newt was already on his feet and racing towards the nearest line of trees, calling for Jacob to follow him, _quickly_. Newt could hear him puffing behind him as they darted into the trees, deeper and deeper, tripping over tree roots and trampling through wildflowers. In a haze of the sweet scent of crushed flower, they arrived at a clearing, where Newt motioned Jacob to stop. Jacob immediately went to lean against a tree.

“Are you going to explain why we just ran headfirst into the woods?” he asked through out-of-breath pants. But Newt didn’t have to answer him - there was a rustle of leaves, a crackle of twigs, before a magnificent barn owl burst out from the trees. It circled the clearing once, before making a decision and landing on Newt’s shoulder with an indignant hoot. She stuck out her leg, where a red envelope sat, smoking slightly. Newt recognized it as a company owl from his office.

"Honestly," Newt said to the owl, rather crossly. "It's the middle of the afternoon - couldn't your human pick a better time to send a Howler?"

The owl put her foot down so she could give his ear a sharp peck, before offering the Howler to him again. Jacob was staring at the barn owl with a look of awe. 

“Is that an _owl?!_ ” he asked, delightedly. “Is she yours?”

“No. She's from my work, I think - she's got some owl post for me. That's how we communicate mostly.” Newt gingerly plucked the red envelope from the owl’s leg, and watched as the owl flew away. “You might want to cover your ears.”

“Why?”

“It’s a Howler.”

“A _what?_ ”

Honestly, just trust me on this.”

Giving him a look that clearly said _you’d better explain this to me soon,_ Jacob put his hands over his ears. Newt gulped, and carefully pulled open the envelope, which immediately ripped itself from Newt’s fingers and morphed itself into an angry looking mouth, which floated between him and a rather concerned looking Jacob.

“NEWTON SCAMANDER.” the letter boomed in a deep, threatening voice, a voice Newt recognized as that of his boss. “YOU ARE CURRENTLY IN BREACH OF ARTICLE 15 OF THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL CREATURES’ INTERNAL CODE OF CONDUCT. REPORT TO YOUR HEAD OF DEPARTMENT _IMMEDIATELY_.”

The paper mouth made a face that could only be construed as disapproving, before disintegrating into a ball of flame and ash and scattering on the clearing floor. Newt immediately began stamping the flames out with his foot, ignoring Jacob as the other man took his hands away from his ears and watched him silently. The end of the Howler seemed to leave a ringing in the air, where it wasn’t exactly silent but the birds were quiet, and the rustling leaves of the trees seemed to be further away than they were supposed to be.

“Giant spiders, owl post and howling letters?” Jacob finally said, sounding a little faint. “Is there anything you magic folk do that _isn’t_ flashy?”

“Acromantula.” Newt corrected, but his mind preoccupied with what exactly he would find back in the office.

  
  
Chapter 3: Cornish Pixies

Newt had never really liked the Head Office of where he worked. It was brash and loud and entirely suited for the Head of the Regulatory Department of Magical Creatures, but was honestly crass. The head of a grand hippogriff sat above the door, its glowering face peering out across the office. The walls were covered in protocol and regulation posters, showing various different stick pen being injured in various ways due to rule-breaking. Across a large section of the wall was a large timetable, neatly colour-coded and enchanted to flash whenever something wasn’t the way it should be. Next to the timetable was a short man, far shorter than the fully human man should be. He wore a knitted cardigan over his standard government-issued robes, and was currently pointing violently at a bright red section of the timetable.

“Two hours!” he was shouting, his face as red as the timetable. “Two hours you were missing - do you know how much it costs to mobilize the Obliviators and keep them on call for _two hours?!_ ”

“A lot, Mr Britchwick.” Newt replied flatly.

“A _lot!_ That’s _right!_ You know how much from the first time it happened, when you decided to stay for tea with that old No-Maj woman instead of signing in!”

“She was frightened - I’d just had to clear her house of Nifflers, she thought she had _thieves_ -”

“She would’ve been just fine had you called the Obliviators like you should’ve! What’s your excuse this time - the No-Maj was traumatised by some spiders and you needed to hold their hand?!”

“They were _Acromantula_ , and I didn’t need the Obliviators.” Newt sighed. “It’s was fine, I handled it.”

“You didn’t handle it _correctly_ , and that’s what the problem is!” Britchwick stormed over to the desk and climbed into his chair, so he could stand on it and tower over Newt. “You’re not in Britain anymore, boy - we’ve got rules and regulations here, and we _stick_ to them. We’re not lawless, like your excuse for a Ministry!”

Newt did not reply. Britchwick watched him for a few moments with his beady eyes, before harrumphing, and dropping to sit properly in his seat.

“You don’t know how lucky a boy of your background is to be in this job, working in the No-Maj Incident Division.” he said, watching him. “You know your animals, and you know how to talk to the no-majes, but you’re lazy and unreliable, and you won’t stick to protocol! I mean, thank God Gerald is here to keep some order in that place - have you seen what he brought me today-?”

He pointed to a fancy looking chest in the corner, that rattled ominously. Newt watched it shiver and jerk, as if something was trying to escape through sheer force.

“A ghoul, that.” Britchwick said, almost proudly. “Gerald went in, secured it, called the Obliviators and came straight back out again. Completely perfectly, no protocol flouted. I'll be able to send that to be humanely destroyed at the end of the week. Why can’t you be like him?”

Again, Newt did not reply, examining the floor with exaggerated interest. Britchwick huffed, and settled back into his chair, looking smug.

“It’s because you won’t try.” he said matter-of-factly. “You don’t try, and therefore you don’t do a good job. This is your last chance, boy, I'm telling you. One more mistake like this, and you're out. Are you going to try now and stick to protocol?”

“Yes, sir.” Newt replied quietly, examining the toe of his shoe. Britchwick snorted.

“I don’t believe that for a second - people of your type never learn. But I don’t have time for that now.” He reached out, and shuffled a few papers. “Get out. I’ve got to contact the Auror office, speak to Percival and get the Obliviators to stand down. God, this is a _mess_ …”

With no other rebuking words forthcoming, Newt got out of his chair, and left. He began to trudge back down to the No-Maj Incident Division office, noting blandly that many of the other staff were refusing to even look at him. Zhou, who was waiting near Britchwick’s office door, gave him a sympathetic smile, but that was the only response he got from anyone. The narrow winding corridor towards the office seemed to take forever, and Newt was tempted to turn around and go home without handling all the paperwork, but he persevered, and soon pushed open the ratty looking door to the No-Maj Incident Division. Gerald was in, plodding away at his own paperwork, his long grey hair curtained down the sides of his face, and the balding top of his tonsure glimmered in the low candlelight.

“Hullo.” Gerald said, in that dour voice of his. “Heard you got in trouble.”

“Forgot to call the Obliviators after a case.” Newt replied, sitting down at his desk and hunting for a quill. “Went well, though. Didn’t need the Obliviators for it.”

“It’s protocol to call them.”

Newt shugged. “I know. Still didn't." Gerald looked as if he was going to go off on one of his monotone lectures again, so Newt quickly changed the subject. "What about you, though? Heard you caught yourself a ghoul. Saw the chest in Britchwick’s office.”

“Don’t remind me.” Gerald’s voice was flat and inflectless, but Newt suspected his hair was hiding a frown. “That one was nasty. Wish Britchwick would stop foisting these bad cases on me.”

“Probably wants to promote you.” Newt tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but failed. Gerald, however, didn’t seem to notice.

“Promotion? I don’t want a promotion. I want to retire. I want to take it slow.”

“At least you didn’t have Acromantula.”

“The only reason I didn’t was because Britchwick thought it would be a case of Enlarged money spiders again. Instead, he gave me the task of wrestling with a hell-ghoul.”

“Hell-ghoul? Why, what happened with this one?”

“Ghoul kept trying to unlock the damn chest. Kept having to wrestle it shut.”

Newt frowned. “Didn’t think ghouls could do that.”

“Neither did I, but the no-maj insisted he’d caught a ghoul in there, and told me to exorcise it.” Gerald dipped his pen in his inkpot with a little more force than was necessary. “Took the chest, and struggled to keep the damn thing shut on my way through the building. None of my locking spells would stick. Had to use a Semi-Permanent Sticking charm in the end.”

That didn’t really sound like any ghoul Newt had heard of, but he didn’t raise his suspicions with Gerald. Instead, he made a noncommittal sound, and pulled a stack of forms towards him, and for the next hour the office was filled only with the scratchy sound of quill against parchment.

BREAK

Newt’s suspicions was right on the money. Not a day after the incident with the Acromantula, Newt found himself racing through the narrow corridors of the Regulatory Department of Magical Creatures towards the upstairs office, where there was an almighty racket of a sound. The halls turned from neat and clear to progressively messier and messier as Newt got closer, with plant pots and filing cabinets overturned, their contents sent flying as Newt raced through. Other members of the Department of Magical Creatures had their heads stuck out of their own offices, watching curiously as Newt raced down the corridor to the head office.

When he arrived, it was clear that there was no ghoul. The office look as if a tornado had ripped though it - papers and quills were scattered across the floor, ink bottles were smashed against the wall, and the orderly timetable Britchwick was so fond of was ripped to shreds, barely hanging onto the corkboard it sat on. The trunk that Gerald had brought in yesterday sat wide open, and was filled with straw and droppings. But the most noticeable difference was in the air - bright blue _things_ whizzed around, crashing into desks and candles, and a high-pitched cackling filled the air.

“Cornish pixies!” Britchwick was bellowing from where he was hung from a high coat hook. “Cornish _bloody_ pixies - No-Maj Incident Division said it was a ghoul!”

He struggled to unhook himself from the wall, but only succeeded in making himself even more read and sweaty. One of the pixies floated in front of him, and blew raspberries at him, making him yell incoherently in rage. As the pixie attempted a rather complicated body twist in front of him, Newt managed to sneak up on it and cast _Immobulus,_ which caused the pixie to stop mid-twist and drop to the floor, frozen. Finally noticing Newt, Britchwick immediately stopped struggling, and scowled.

“Scamander!” Britchwick yelled. “Sort this mess out!”

Newt nodded, and turned to face the rest of the room. There must have been around fifteen pixies in total, each in various states of destroying something. Three were attempting to dislodge and another was busy dunking candles in the water pitcher. Near the door where he’d come in were another group of pixies, frantically unscrewing the large hippogriff head from the wall, above the door, through which Zhou had just arrived on scene, and was looking around-

“Zhou!” Newt called over the chaos. “Watch out!”

Zhou looked up, her almond eyes widening as she saw the loose taxidermy head. With a quick dive, she managed to leap out the way as the hippogriff head came crashing to the floor. There came several disappointed sounds from the pixies, but they didn’t last for long - Zhou swished her wand in an arc, and managed to knock two of them into the wall. She dashed over to him, her black hair and silk cream dress streaming behind her as she avoided the pixies.

“Mr Newt!” she said, ducking under another pair of pixies as they carried a heavy-looking paperweight towards the window. “What’s happened?”

“Mistaken identity.” Newt replied, frantically batting away a pixie that was attempting to pull at his hair. “Found a box- thought it was a ghoul- was actually pixies- what are you doing here? _Immobulus!_ ” The pixie dropped to the floor with an unhappy shriek.

“Was supposed to have a meeting” Zhou turned and raised her wand to another pack of pixies. “Where’s your friend? The other No-Maj Incident Division man?”

“Gerald? No idea!” Another pixie dive-bombed him, covered from head to toe in ink, and Newt ducked out the way. “Hope he’ll be here soon!”

There wasn’t much else that could be said - the remaining pixies, having realized that the main danger came from Newt and Zhou, abandoned their projects and swarmed towards them, tiny blue fingers splayed and mouth grinning with sharpened teeth. Newt and Zhou battled furiously with them, casting _Immobulus_ and other spells to try and contain the hoard, and Banishing the frozen ones back into the open chest. It felt like they were battling for an age, but it must have only been ten minutes before most of the pixies were re-contained. Newt was banishing the last of the pixies when Gerald showed up, his toad-like face peering worriedly into the room.

“Ah, Gerald.” Britchwick called him over with a wave of his hand. “There you are. Come and get me down- you too, girl- Scamander, will you do something about your _hair-_ ”

As Zhou and Gerald hurried over, wands drawn, Newt frowned, and patted his head, realising that in the mayhem his hair had reverted to its default afro-like shape. He thought hard for a moment, and felt the kinked strands coil up and tighten back into locs, dislodging a frozen pixie that had become knotted in it. Newt sighed, and crouched down to pick it up from a pile of papers. As he picked up the prone blue body, the papers below it shifted, and Newt caught sight of the title of one of the papers-

 _11/16/1934-_ _CASE LIST - GERALD CINERVILLUS_

Throwing the pixie into the chest, Newt shuffled the papers around, until he found another caselist, this time with his own name printed on it. He compared the two - for tomorrow, he had the joy of controlling an outbreak of Flobberworms at a nearby plant nursery, followed by a scintillating two hours of Nogtail hunting at a farm in the middle of nowhere. Gerald, on the other hand, had a morning of retrieving what was suspected to be a dragon’s egg being sold at a No-Maj auction, before taking a three day holiday in New Zealand to return it to a dragon sanctuary. One of those things was not quite like the other.

Newt looked up at where Gerald was attempting to unknot Britchwick’s robe from the hook, then looked down at the paper again.

Well, Gerald did say he wanted to take it slow.

With a surreptitious tap of his wand, Newt watched as the names switched themselves over in a wiggle of ink. By the time he’d straightened up, altered case lists in hand, Britchwick had been safely removed from the hook, and was dusting himself down.

“Right, thank you both.” he said, a little gruffly. “Miss Zhou - clean this up would you?”

“You mean go and contact the Cleaning department?” Zhou said, folding her arms. “We had a meeting - about the Occamy trade problems?”

“I had a meeting with the Chinese delegate of the International Confederation of Wizards.” Britchwick replied brusquely. “Not his secretary. Tell him I want to see him in person - I’ll be in the canteen. Gerald?”

Gerald jumped. “Y-yes?”

“Your case list’s somewhere around here - find it, won’t you?”

And with that, he walked out the door. Zhou’s face went through a multitude of expressions - blankness, rage, frustration, sadness, before finally settling on contempt. With a harsh mutter of “I _am_ the Chinese delegate of the ICW!”, Zhou marched out of the office, after Britchwick. Gerald looked at Newt, and gave a shrug.

“Er.” he said. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen the case lists, have you?”

“Oh, they’re here.” Newt waved the two case lists he’d snatched from the floor. “I grabbed it from the pixies a few minutes ago. Here you go-”

Gerald took it with an expression of foreboding, but his expression visibly brightened as read over the list. Newt swore he heard a whispered “thank _God_ ” as Newt passed by him and left the destroyed office.

  
  
Chapter 4: Danish Short-Snout

The no-maj auction job he’d manage to snag wasn’t until the afternoon, and after setting up everything he needed, Newt spent much of his morning curled up in his office, reading his well thumbed copy of _Magickal Creatures of the Highest Peaks._ Gerald left around ten, whistling a jaunty tune - the mere sight of him whistling was enough for Newt to seriously consider checking him for a Confundus charm, or damage from the pixie venom. Britchwick seemed unaware of the case list change - or at least, he hadn’t come down to the office to harass Newt about it, so after a rather leisurely lunch of a Cornish pasty he found at the back of his desk, he headed out into no-maj New York.

The auction took place in a small courthouse, very much on the southern outskirts of New York. Newt was well aware of the organizer of this particular auction - a man of business and politics, it was hard not to know him, even in magical circles. Normally his auctions were restricted to friends and political allies, but through a stroke of luck, he had opened this auction up to the public - and not just for his white compatriots either. Newt followed the path round to the back of the house, where the coloured entrance was, and accepting a catalogue from the doorman, he slipped inside.

Once he’d climbed up into the coloured balcony, it was clear that he was not the only person who’d had the same idea. The balcony, with its polished wood railings and floor, was filled with people of all hues from tan to blue-black. Across the railings and down into a wide hall, there was a sea of white faces, all milling and chattering away, occasionally flashing a glance up to the balcony. A stage sat at the far end of the hall, with wooden desks and velvet chairs and manned by attendees. In the center were several rows of chairs, and along the walls were display cabinets, holding what Newt assumed were what was being sold.

But that was not the most interesting thing to Newt. No, the most interesting thing to him was the curly-haired brown man sat at the front of the balcony. Honestly, Newt though as he made his way over to him, this was the last place he’d thought he’s ever meet Jacob Kowalski again.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Newt casually slid into the seat next to Jacob, as if he did this every day. To Jacob’s credit, he did not so much as jump as tense up, and he turned to look at him with a wry smile.

“Newt Scamander.” he replied, quiet enough so that they wouldn’t be overheard in the hubbub of the auction room. “Back in no-maj land, I see.”

“You just can’t keep me away.” Newt grinned. “You came to see the auction?”

“I did. One of the most prestigious auctions opens its doors to folk like us? Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Jacob leant forward and peered down at the auction hall floor. “Helped that the cannery I work at went on strike. Gave me - well, most people up on this balcony - the time off to see it.”

"You’re on strike?”

“Third day now. Entire factory floor has been cleared. The boss has been threatening to lay us all off, but we’re all sure he’s bluffing.” He drummed his fingers against the balcony railing. “So what about you? Business or pleasure visit?”

“Business.” Newt laughed as Jacob rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

"Do I want to know?” he asked. “Is the entire building haunted, or infested with magic rats?”

“Neither. You’ll like this one.”

“Is this another thing that wizards are doing to ‘look after’ us no-majes?” he asked, accompanied with air quotes.

“Oh, not this time. This one’s a little time sensitive - there wouldn’t be enough time to organize a no-maj approach.” Jacob peered at him suspiciously for a minute, before sighing, and leaning back into his chair.

“Go on, then.” he said, in an indulgent tone. “I’ll bite. What are you hunting this time?”

With a smile, Newt flipped through the catalogue, quickly finding the listing and pointing it out to Jacob. “That’s what I’m hunting for.”

“Oh, the ostrich egg? I was talking to some of the other people on this balcony about that - apparently it was painted by some tribal chieftain hundreds of years ago.” Jacob paused, before giving Newt an alarmed look. “You’re going to say it’s the egg of a giant magic snake, aren’t you?”

“Nearly.” Newt paused for dramatic effect. “It’s actually a _dragon’s_ egg.”

Jacob’s eyes went wide.

“A _dragon’s_ egg?” he whispered, leaning in close. “An actual _dragon?!_ ”

“Yes.”

“With teeth and sharp bits? The dragons that get bigger than houses?!”

“Yes! Isn’t it fantastic?!”

“That’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever heard!” Jacob looked back at the catalogue. “Are you telling me big giant lizards really _do_ fly around the countryside, and that’s one of their eggs?!”

“Well, not the countryside _exactly._ ” Newt settled into his chair. “This one’s a Danish Short-Snout - it’s cousins with another breed of dragon, the Swedish Short-Snout - you can tell the differences in the colour of the egg markings and- and I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“Just a touch. But it’s alright, I’m interested now - where do these dragons live?”

“Up in the mountains, mostly, or in remote islands. This one, the Danish Short-Snout, lives on one island only - a island called Lítla Dímun, in the Faroe archipelago.”

“Shouldn’t they be called Faroese Short Snouts, then?”

“They _should_ , but the first time anyone ever saw one was when very rich Danish wizards brought them to the mainland to use as security. Didn’t work, of course - the dragons destroyed the islands they were imprisoned in, and the population of Danish Short-Snouts plummeted.”

“So the egg that’s for sale is very rare.”

“More than rare - it’s priceless. Danish Short-Snout eggs have been Class A Non-Tradeable goods for decades. Not only that, there hasn’t been a Danish Short-Snout born in the last ten years - if that egg is still viable, the animal itself would be incredibly valuable.”

“If?”

Newt blew out a breath, his face taking on a worried look. “That’s the time-sensitive aspect, see. Dragon eggs need to be incubated in magical fire - normally the mothers flame, but temperature-specific fire spells work too. If that egg’s been out of magical fire for too long…”

“It won’t hatch.” Jacob was silent for a moment, before speaking again with a certain edge to his voice. “Well, we can’t let that happen. What’s your plan?”

Newt’s lips twitched at the determination in Jacob’s voice. “Well, first, I’m going to win it. Second, I’m going to take it to a sanctuary in Sweden.”

Jacob snorted, amused. “Hate to break this to you, but there is a rather glaring flaw in your plan.”

“And what’s that?”

“They may have opened the auction house to people of our colour, but that doesn’t mean we can bid. You couldn’t buy a thing from here.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.” Newt leant forward on the balcony rail, and began to scan the crowds below. “I have an accomplice.”

“An accomplice?” Jacob leaned forward too, now curious. “And who’s that?”

“Her.”

Jacob followed Newt’s pointed finger down into the crowds below, who were now mostly sat down and organized. The woman Newt pointed at stood out immediately from the crowd, by being one of the few young women in the room. Her strawberry-blonde hair was tightly coiled into fingerwaves, the tips just hovering above the fur collar of her dark blue coat. Her face was open but heavily made up - the dark red of her lips were a contrast to the pale rouge of her cheeks. She sat near the front of the auction hall, between two older men in sharp grey suits, with whom she was chatting quite happily.

“A white woman agreed to help you buy a dragon’s egg?” Jacob asked dubiously.

“Queenie and I have history - it’s a bit complicated.” As Newt spoke, the auctioneer and the organizer of the auction walked in, and began to fill in the stage. The room began to quieten, and Newt leaned in and dropped his voice into a whisper. “I trust her - she’ll handle this.”

Jacob shook his head, but remained quiet as the auction got underway. It was a little boring, if Newt was honest - the auctioneer was lively and engaging, but honestly there was only so many times you could hear “shall we set the starting price at…” and “going once, going twice, sold!” before it got a little repetitive. Jacob was fully into it however, leaning forward in his chair and making different sounds depending on the price of the item and who won it. Occasionally, he’d comment on how something would look in his home, or how ridiculous someone was to buy something for _that_ price, and it was these comments that stopped Newt from drifting off into a light dose.

“Lot number one hundred and thirty-three… ah yes! The unusual ostrich egg- shell! Said to have be painted by one of the great chieftains long ago…”

Newt perked up at the sound, and leant forward - as, it seemed, did everyone else in the room. This item had certainly caught people’s attention - Newt noticed some of the elderly gentlemen downstairs polish their eyeglasses so they could better see the item in question. The auctioneer too, noticed, and smiled.

“I sense someone will be a very lucky person this evening.” he joked, and there was a ripple of laughter around the hall. “Shall we start at, say… one hundred pounds?”

There was a murmur of surprise, but that didn’t last for long - someone bid on it almost immediately. There were a few other bids, but they didn’t last for long - at around five hundred dollars, the bids petered down. The current bidder was someone Newt couldn’t see - they were underneath the balcony, most probably at the back of the hall where they couldn’t be seen easily. Newt’s accomplice, Queenie, had not yet bid, and Newt could feel Jacob getting restless beside him.

“Is everything alright?” Jacob murmured in his ear. “Why hasn’t she bid? Has something gone wrong?”

“Relax,” Newt murmured back. “It’s just a show.” Jacob frowned at him, but did not have time to reply - the auctioneer had begun to close up the sale.

“So that is two hundred and ten pounds to the robed lady at the back of the room.” The auctioneer peered at the unseen person. “Two-ten, then. Going once, going twi- is that a bid? Ma’am, please be more timely with your card in future!”

There was a tittering of laughter, but Queenie did not seem abashed - she lowered her card, and gave an innocent smile. The bidding war began again, this time between Queenie and the stranger, rising higher and higher - three hundred, four hundred, five hundred, six hundred pounds, and the volume of the crowd crescendoed with each bid. Newt was tense with nerves, and he could feel Jacob was too, his tensed shoulder pressed against his own.

“Six-seventy! Six-seventy with the young lady!” The auctioneer called over the hubbub. “Ma’am - everyone, please settle down! - Ma’am, at the back, will you bid?”

There was a momentary pause, a second of almost eternal silence, before there was a snap of heels on the tile - Newt guessed their adversary had walked out. The talking resumed, at a much lower tone than before. The auctioneer settled back into his seat, wiping his brow with a handkerchief.

“Well,” he said. “That… that was some excitement. Six-seventy with the young lady - any other takers? Going once, twice… sold, to the young lady at the front! Ma’am, please come forward, to one of the attendants at the front, that’s right…”

Newt flopped back into his chair, feeling like he’d just run a marathon. The men and women surrounding him broke into excited chatter about what had just occurred. The auction moved on, but Newt was hardly aware of it, high on adrenaline and exhilaration. Beside him, Jacob blew out a puff of air, looking just as exhausted as Newt felt. Jacob turned his head, and smiled tiredly at Newt.

“We did it!” he said, laughing a little. “We won the dragon’s egg!”

Newt grinned in response, before getting up and offering his hand to Jacob.

“Come on,” he said, grinning. “Let’s go find Queenie and claim our dragon!”

 

  
  
Chapter 5: Eagle Owl

Newt lead Jacob off the balcony and down the hall, ducking into a what seemed to be a small cleaning cupboard. Jacob found himself a bucket to sit on, and Newt leant against a shelf, and they waited. It did not take long for Queenie to arrive - the snap of her heels was instantly recognisable on the oak floor. What Newt didn’t expect was the accompanying sound of a woman’s rubber-soled step.

“That’s very tempting, ma’am.” Queenie’s girlish voice tittered from just outside the door. “But I just can’t - I’m buying it on behalf of my husband, you see, and you know how _they_ can be when they don’t get what they want!”

There was more murmuring, before Queenie spoke again. “I know, that is a lot of money, but this is _priceless_. Have you ever seen anything like this before?” She paused. “I know, but I tell you what - leave me your telephone number, and I’ll get my husband to call, alright? He’ll be so happy to meet someone with similar taste!”

She laughed, and there was a brief moment of quiet, the scratching of a pen, followed by the other woman walking away. Queenie darted into the cupboard not a moment later, a cardboard box underneath one arm. She shut the door behind her, then leant against it and wiped her brow.

“Have you warded the place?” she asked Newt, already drawing her wand. Newt hadn’t even replied before she’d begun drawing a complex pattern in the air.

“Already knew you didn’t.” she said, lowering her wand after a moment. “God, I’m tired. Been interrogated on ‘why an unmarried woman like me was buying such a rare artifact’. Had to conjure a wedding ring to get them to take me seriously.”

“But you got the egg, right?” Newt asked, stepping forwards.

She set the box down on an upturned bucket, and tapped it. “Took me ages to get out of there. The woman who was with me just now - offered me double for it. Double! I’m almost certain she was a stooge - no self-respecting dragon smuggler would accept a telephone number.”

“I did suspect.” Newt turned to Jacob, who looked a little confused. “A stooge is someone a smuggler sends in their place to buy an illegal item. They’re normally from a poor family, or a particularly savvy warlock might employ a no-maj representative.”

“So that the wizard doesn’t get done in for buying the item.” Jacob said slowly. “Is this common?”

“Relatively, although trying to sell through non-magical means isn’t common.” Newt gave him a reassuring look. Queenie, on the other hand, had only just noticed Jacob sitting on his bucket in the back of the cupboard.”

“Oh? Is that a friend of yours?” She peered behind Newt, where Jacob was sat. “Who is he? Come out - let me see you properly!”

With a hesitant look at Newt, Jacob straightened up, and stood by his side, nodding a little. Queenie immediately took him by the shoulders, and measured him up and down.

“You’re not someone I know.” she said, frowning. “Were you an Ester boy?”

“A what?” Jacob looked at Newt, utterly lost. Newt stepped forward with a smile, and gently removed Queenie’s hands from Jacob’s shoulders.

“Queenie, don’t crowd him now.” he said, laughing a little. “He went to neither - he’s not a wizard.”

“Oh, so you’re a Squib!” Queenie blinked. “Have you tried Qwikspell - it worked wonders for a cousin of mine-”

“Not helpful, Queenie.” Newt gave her a stern look. “He’s a no-maj, and quite happy as one.”

“Oh.” She paused, and thought. “Isn’t no-maj contact illegal except for Congressial business?”

“If it is, I’m claiming ignorance because I’m not American.” Newt turned to Jacob with a slightly apologetic smile. “Jacob, this is Queenie - receptionist of the Wand Permit Office, and my occasional accomplice. Queenie, this is Jacob Kowalski, aspiring baker and bird enthusiast.”

“Oh, a baker?” Queenie looked delighted. “I’ve never met a man who cooks - I love to cook!”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Jacob reached out and shook her hand. “Er, what’s an ‘Ester boy’?”

“Oh, it’s just a nickname. It’s what we call magical folk who went to Estraligad School for the Study of Magics.”

“Schools?” Jacob looked between them both, his curiosity manifesting into a bright smile. “You have schools for magic?”

“Boarding schools.” Newt smiled. “In America, there’s two - Ilvermorny on the East Coast, for white wizards, Estreligad on the West, for the rest of us.” Newt paused for a moment. “Well, most of us - our magical Congress tries to enforce attendance, but I think the native tribes educate their own wizards, and some other families send their children overseas.”

“I don’t blame them.” Queenie shuddered. “I remember Tina came back from her first year there, and flatly refused to return. Pa sent her to Hogwarts after that - that’s the British wizarding school, that Newt went to.”

“You didn’t go there?” Jacob asked.

“No - my family’s Creole, see. When I had my wand registered, they thought I was white enough to go to Ilvermorny, whilst they sent my sister to Estreligad.” She laughed. “Wasn’t until I graduated that they realised their mistake.”

“But back to the dragon…” Newt said pointedly. Queenie rolled her eyes at him.

“Alright, Mr Impatient, here…” She turned to the cardboard box, and tapped it with her wand. Immediately, the cardboard peeled away like petals, as did the newspaper inside and the bubble-wrap, until what remained was a large round egg, dappled with flecks of blue and gold and silver, sat on a spindly little stand. Newt immediately picked it up, and began to pat along the outside, raising it to his ear as he did so. Jacob and Queenie watched in silence as he rubbed and listened to the egg for about two solid minutes, until he smiled, and lowered it to nestle in the crook of his arm.

“She’s fine.” he announced, smiling a Jacob. “A little cold, but she’s not been harmed.

 

“Oh, the patterning on the egg, the sounds of her moving... Would you like to hold her?”

“I- what? Hold her?” Jacob’s eyes widened. “Shouldn’t you be putting her in magic fire or something?”

“A few minutes won’t hurt. And not many people can claim they’ve held a dragon’s egg.”

“I.. alright. Alright.” Newt smiled encouragingly, and carefully handing the egg over, arranging Jacob’s hands so that the egg was secure. Jacob face transformed from a frown of concentration to a look of awe, and he examined the egg with almost parental pride.

“She’s warm!” he said, laughing a little. “She’s warm, like bread straight from the oven!”

“That’s right.” Evidently pleased by Jacob’s reaction, Newt smiled, and drew his wand. “Residual warmth from the mother flame - or any magical flame, really, they retain heat remarkably well… hold still, would you?”

“What for?”

“I’m going to set it on fire.”

“With me holding it?!”

“Yes. Well, I’m going to jar it first, then set it on fire.”

“I was going to say…”

Reluctantly, Jacob held the dragon’s egg out at an arm’s length, and Newt flicked his wand. A jar leapt out of thin air, and floated towards the other man. The jar gave an encouraging tilt, and Jacob carefully placed the egg inside, and screwed on the lid that was helpfully floating nearby. The jar immediately filled with bright blue flames, and floated back towards Newt.

“I’m never going to get used to magic.” Jacob deadpanned, and both Queenie and Newt laughed,

“It’s is quite amazing sometimes, isn’t it?” Newt replied, before conjuring a bag. He settled the jar into the bag, and swung it on his back. “That should make her comfortable on the trip to Sweden.”

“How’re you getting there?” Queenie asked. “Broom?”

Jacob blinked. “You actually ride brooms?”

“Stereotypical, I know, but yes.” Newt fiddled with the clasp. “But they’re too slow. I got an International Portkey to go.”

“A Portkey?” Queenie’s face lit up. “How big is it? Can I come? Only that if I go back to the office I’m going to have to have that new intern checking me out again…”

“Sure.” Newt shrugged. “We can make a holiday of it.”

“And I can pop across to Scotland too - go and see Tina!” She clapped her hands together. “And you can go see your parents!”

Newt grinned, and turned towards Jacob. “What about you, Jacob?” he asked. “Want to accompany two strangers to a Swedish dragon reserve?”

Jacob gaped. “What, _now?_ ”

“Yes, now.” Newt pulled an old pocketwatch out of his coat. “This’ll take us there.”

“But don’t I need a passport? Some clothes?”

“Only if you’re going the non-magical way. And my father’s robes will fit you - we’ll drop the egg off, and head straight over.”

“What do you say?” Queenie grabbed him by the shoulders. “Please say yes - it’ll be so much fun!”

Jacob looked between them, then looked towards the ceiling. “Honestly, if I get eaten by a dragon, I am blaming both of you…”

Queenie gave a cheer, and Newt held out the Portkey with a smile that lit up the room.

“Alright, hands on - let’s go to Sweden!”

BREAK

The Portkey hurled them through space in the blink of a eye, neatly depositing them on a snow drift in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere. Queenie landed perfectly on her feet, and immediately started to cast warming and waterproofing charms. Newt landed on his back, and blinked up at the starry sky, a little dazed. Jacob landed and immediately fell over, but scrambled back to his feet with a shudder.

“Snow.” he grumbled. “Hate the stuff.”

“Don’t be so grumpy, Jacob.” Newt said pleasantly. “Come here, I’ll do a warming charm for you...”

As Newt sorted out warming and waterproofing charms for Jacob, Queenie cast a lighting charms, and looked out at the wintery hand cupped on her forehead. She squinted at something off in the distance, then began waving frantically, her lighted wand bobbing in the dark night. Jacob and Newt looked out too, and saw a matching light making its way towards them.

“I don’t suppose anyone speaks Swedish?” Newt asked in an undertone.

“Nope, sorry.” Jacob replied.

“I had a boyfriend who spoke Swedish.” Queenie remarked. “But I don’t remember much. Just the Swedish for ‘go f-’”

“Yes Queenie, we get the picture.” Newt interrupted hurriedly, and before Queenie could elaborate on any more Swedish she knew, Newt waded out towards the person approaching them.

“Hello!” he shouted, waving. “Are you from Eldödla?”

“Merlin’s beard!” came the reply. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Warming charms!”

“They won’t last long in this weather, I’ll tell you.” The person came closer into the light, and Newt could see them properly - a woman, with a square face, prominent freckled nose and dark red hair tied in a severe bun, covered from head to toe in a fur cloak. “My name’s Elda Weasley - one of the dragonologists here. You got the dragon egg?”

“Yes.” Newt indicated to his backpack. “It’s with me.”

“I was told there would only be one of you.”

“There was a bit of an… incident.” Newt was lucky for the dark - his fidgeting would’ve given his lie away immediately. Instead, he indicated to Queenie and Jacob. “These are my associates - Queenie Goldstein, member of the Magical American Congress of the United States Of America, and Jacob Kowalski, our… Muggle guide.”

“Muggle?” Elda’s eyes widened. “Is that safe?”

“He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t trusted.” Newt replied firmly. “If you have a problem with that, we’ll find another reserve for our Danish Short-Snout.”

She shifted her weight, clearly torn. “You’re certain he’s safe?”

“Absolutely.”

“I can stay here if it’s going to be trouble.” Jacob offered, but the woman waved him away.

“Out here in the cold? We’re not animals - you can come in. One moment…” She turned, and raised her wand. With a murmur of a spell, a shimmer of magic rippled through the air. There was a deep groan, and then an entire hamlet seemed to grow out of the air. Log cabins and a stone pathway faded into view, followed by numerous people in bright blue robes. There was a rustle of feathers, and Newt looked up - a constant stream of some kind of bird flew up above, communicating between the various towers that stood at the far end of the camp.

“What owls are those, Jacob?” Queenie asked, pointing up at the birds that flew overhead. Jacob gave her an incredulous look.

“A village just came out of thin air, and you’re asking me about birds?” he asked. He then looked up. “Those are eagle owls.”

“How can you tell?”

“They’re _massive_. Eagle owls are one of the biggest species of owls in existence.”

“And the hardiest.” Elda added. “They live around here - live near the dragons and all.”

“Don’t they get eaten?” Queenie looked worried. “It looks like the perfect snack size.”

Surprisingly, it was not Elda who replied, but Jacob. He laughed, and gave Queenie a lazy smile.

“Ms Goldstein,” He said, laying a hand on her arm. “Eagle owls don’t care how big you are - they're _aggressive_ when they're angry. If your dragon tried to eat one, it would soon regret it.”

  
  
Chapter 6: Flutterby

The process of handing over the egg was relatively simple. Elda had taken it as soon as they’d entered one of the bigger cabins, and with some help from other dragon wizards, she settled it in what seemed to be a nest of hot coal. It was not the only egg - there were about four or five in similar setups in and around the room. Much to Jacob and Newt’s disappointment, they weren’t able to see a dragon up close that night, and instead were plyed with hot cranberry juice and sequestered in an old cabin, reserved for the extra workers that tended to come in during the busy seasons, whilst Queenie roomed with Elda herself.

Jacob was pleased with the arrangement. The rooms were well furnished, with thick duvets and blankets, and numerous magical books in both languages he could read, and languages he couldn’t. Elda had assured him that the cabins were also fireproof, which was a nice reassurance, being so close to dragons as they were. He turned in late that night, nestling into the thick duvet, happily allowing himself to fall asleep and wait for the morning to come, where they would be leaving for Scotland.

Or at least, he _was._

“...Psst. Jacob. Jacob!”

“...”

“... _Jacob!”_

“I’m _asleep._ ”

“Come here.”

“Why? What- Mr Scamander, close that door- it’s freezing!”

“Come and _see._ ”

“Until five minutes ago, I was in a warm wooden lodge in rural Sweden, _asleep_. And I’d like to go back to that.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure? You won’t regret this, I swear.”

When Jacob finally shuffled out, wrapped in a duvet and a borrowed robe, he took the time to give Newt a glare before looking out at what Newt wanted him to see. It was rather hard to miss - the sky was lit bright with aurora, bright ribbons of yellow-green lights that streaked across the sky. Hanging in the air were glowing orbs, barely bigger than Jacob’s thumb, lazily swaying in the night sky. In the distance, a shadowy dragon roared, silhouetted against the bright sky. Newt was sat on the step, wrapped in several blankets, his slippered feet _tap-tap-tapping_ against the snowy ground.

“Wow.” Jacob whispered, coming to sit next to him. “Is that a dragon back there?”

“Yes. Crepuscular creatures - they’re only active at dawn and dusk.” Newt smiled, his voice filled with admiration. “Beautiful, misunderstood creatures. They have family structures similar to us, did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t.” He was silent for a while, watching the dragon dip and dive along the horizon. “And the glowing orbs? They some kind of bird?”

“Flutterbies. Little glowing insects. They come here in the winter, to mate during the aurora.”

“Brilliant.” One of the flutterbies floated near them,and Jacob raised a hand. The orb investigated it, but flitted away only a moment later. Jacob laughed, and lowered his hand.

“I can’t imagine what would happen if other no-majes saw them.”

“Probably the same as the wizards.” Newt’s smile fell away. “When they migrate, wizards come and catch them, and use them as decorations.”

“And they can’t defend themselves?”

“Oh, they’ll try blinding you if you kidnap them.” He paused. “And when they’re mating, they sing too, which is off-putting to say the least.”

“Did the singing wake you up?”

“Hmm? Oh, they haven’t started yet. I just struggle sleeping in new places.” He laughed. “It’ll be better once we get to Scotland. Have you ever been there?”

“Me? No. Going to America was the first time I left Bukharan.” Jacob looked at him curiously. “What’s it like? Is it better than America, for people like us?”

“Not really.” Newt snorted. “There aren’t laws like there are in America, but there are… social rules. Things we shouldn’t do, things we’re stopped from doing...”

“Doesn’t sound much better. What about for no-majes?”

“Same, really. We treat no-majes relatively similar to you. Muggleborns - that’s what we call magical folk from non-magic backgrounds, they’re not treated well. Squibs are outcasts.”

“Queenie called me that earlier - a squib. What is it?”

“A no-maj, born into a magical family.” Newt paused. “My mother’s one.”

“She’s like me? No magic?”

“Yes. Her parents were ashamed so ashamed of her - put her up for adoption when she was ten when it was obvious she wasn’t going to be magical.”

“And now?”

“And now… well, she’s an animal breeder now. Learnt everything I know from her.” A genuine smile crept onto his face. “Dad’s a senior Auror - like a policeman. First black Auror they let on the force. Tina - Queenie’s sister - she works in the same office.”

“I remember Ms Goldstein mentioned a sister. She lives close?”

“We were in the same house at Hogwarts. We were friends - I was going to marry her.”

“Was?” Jacob’s features softened into sympathy. “Did it not work out?”

“Oh, no. She found someone else.” Newt paused, hesitating just a little. “She… lives with another woman now.”

“You mean she’s…?” Jacob gave a flutter of his hand, and Newt smiled a little.

“Yes.” He paused and frowned worriedly, biting his lip. “That won’t be a problem, will it?”

To his surprise, Jacob laughed. “I spent most of the time I was with you trying to clock whether you were supportive.”

“You mean, you’re…?”

“Yeah - known for a while.” He shook his head, and smiled. “Never thought I’d find anyone like me in my lifetime, and now…”

“Now you’ve met two.”

“Two?”

“Me too.”

“Oh, thank _heavens._ ”

Jacob visibly relaxed, and smiled at him. Newt laughed, feeling more exhilarated than he had felt in a while - it had been so long since he could be open with someone. He looked back out at the flutterbies, and laughed again. Someone he could be free about his interest in creatures, his magic, his race and his romantic interests? The last person he met who he could talk freely about it was Tina, and even then he had to be careful about the more misunderstood creatures he tended to investigate.

“I’m guessing you haven’t told your family?” Jacob spoke after a few moments of watching the flutterbies. “About you, or Tina?”

“No. They think we broke our engagement off because we wanted to focus on work first.” Newt laughed, a little bitterly. “She thinks Tina and Leta - that’s her partner - live together to save on rent.”

“I see. My parents don’t know either.”

“It’s understandable - it’s not really something you can talk about.” Newt held out a hand to a flutterby that had floated close. “Can you tell me about your family? I feel like I know so little about you.”

“There’s not much to say, really.” He toed at the snow for a moment. “Grew up with my mother and father, and my sisters in Bukharan - they’re farmers, see. I left when I was twenty - a year before it became the Soviet Union. Got a job in the United States, been there ever since.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Of course I do. Mother writes to me each month, and I send her American things - sweets and things. Father asks for some bottles of Coca Cola every month.”

“He’s fond of that?”

“He’s never had a sweet tooth, but there’s something he likes about it.” Jacob shook his head. “I’ll never get it.”

“What about your pastries? Do you send them?”

“Haven’t found a way to send them without them breaking.” He paused, and sighed. “I think Mother would be proud - her father was a baker.”

“I could help, you know.” Newt fingered the edge of his duvet. “A Sturdy charm on the box should do it, if you pack the box right.”

“You’d do that for me?” Jacob blinked, then beamed. “No-one’s been that nice to me for a long time, Mr Scamander.”

“No-one’s not been me.” Newt replied. “And my name’s Newt.”

“Newt.” Jacob rolled the name around on his tongue. “Alright. Newt, thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” Newt looked out once more at the flutterbies, before standing up, and wrapping the duvet around him tighter. “I’m going to head inside - it’s getting a bit cold, and I forgot Warming charms…”

“You forgot Warming charms?” Jacob rolled his eyes, before getting up too. “Honestly, what kind of wizard are you? In you go, before you get hypothermia- do you wizards get hypothermia? If this is how you all act, I bet you do…”

  
  


  
  
Chapter 7: Garden Gnome

“I can’t believe you saw the Flutterbies and didn’t tell me!”

It was morning, and Jacob and Newt had been reunited with Queenie. The reserve in the daylight looked almost mystical in quality, with the bare sun reflecting off the snow like glitter. It was almost ten, and the sun had only just risen, bathing the sky in a pinkish glow. Magical folk of all kinds bustled around the small encampment, bundles of equipment bobbing along in their wake. Queenie, dressed in borrowed fur robes with a backpack on her back, had joined them in the small dormitory, and was watching them with a very annoyed expression.

“It was three in the morning.” Newt tried to explain, with a slightly apologetic look. “We didn’t want to wake Elda up as well as you.”

“Still, you could’ve _tried._ ” Queenie pulled on the strap of her bag. “You’d better make it up to me when we reach Glenfinnan.”

“I will, promise.” Newt patted her on the arm. “I’ll take you to see Rona again, if you’d like?”

“Rona?” Jacob asked.

“A Hippogriff - like a giant, winged… bird… horse thing?”

“Descriptive.” Jacob deadpanned, and Queenie giggled.

“I like him.” she laughed. “He reminds me of Tina. You’d get along, I think.”

“I hope so.” Newt made one last check of his pockets and bag, before looking between them both. “Ready to go?”

“Sure.” Jacob gave a brief smile. “How are we getting there? Portkey again?”

“Apparation.”

“Are we close enough?” Queenie asked, wrapping her hand around Newt’s bicep. “Glenfinnan is rather a long way from here.”

“We’ll do two - apparate to Stockholm first, then to Glenfinnan from there.”

“Er, what’s Apparation?” Jacob asked, watching suspiciously as Newt tucked his hand into the crook of his elbow. “Is it like the Portkey?”

“Somewhat.” Newt said, readying himself. “You disappear and reappear in the same place, but Portkeys are less risky for long distances.”

“Risky?”

“The further you apparate, the more likely you’re going to get Splinched - lose toes, fingers, things like that.”

“Wait, _what?”_

“No need to panic - off we go!”

And before Jacob could object, they were gone, and Eldödla vanished with a sharp _crack_.

BREAK

Scotland was like nothing Jacob had ever seen. Whereas the cold snow of Sweden presented an eerie calm, the moors of heather and rough stone gave Scotland a wilder feel, as if the landscape was only one step away from devouring him whole. Of course, that might’ve been a rather biased first expression, since as soon as they’d landed, Jacob had fallen over, and was currently taking everything in from the floor.

“That,” he panted, after he’d gotten his breath back. “was _horrific._ Worse than the Portkey.”

“It takes some getting used to.” Newt replied. “Now quickly, pat yourselves down. Check you haven’t lost a body part.”

“I think I lost a toe.” Queenie said, rolling her feet. Jacob gave her an alarmed look, but Newt didn’t even look in her direction.

“Queenie, I know for a fact you were born with four toes.” he deadpanned. “I’m not falling for that one twice.”

Queenie pouted at him. “You’re no fun.”

“Spoilsport, that’s me.” Newt looked towards Jacob. “Jacob, how are you doing? Have you got all your fingers?”

“I think so.” He double checked his hands. “Yeah, all my finger, all my toes, and all of my everything else. You?”

“Good, good. I think I’m…” Newt patted his face, then stopped, suddenly looked horrified. “Oh _no_.”

“What?”

“My eyebrows! I Splinched my eyebrows!”

Newt removed his hands from his face, and Jacob saw two strips of dark freckled skin where his bushy ginger eyebrows used to be. Had Newt not looked so forlorn, Jacob would not have held back the laugh bubbling up inside him. Queenie, however, had no such qualms, and let out a peal of laughter.

“Newton Scamander,” she said, giggling. “You’re a Metamorphmagus - _grow them back_.”

“Oh. Uh. Yes.” Blushing something furious, Newt closed his eyes, and focused. Jacob watched in amazement as bright red hair sprouted from his browline, and filled his eyebrows back in.

“Is that what being a metamorphmagus is?” Jacob asked, once Newt had verified he had eyebrows again. “Growing back parts of your body?”

“Some people can do that.” Newt replied. “Being a Metamorphmagus is about changing your shape, but some people have more traits than others. Hair’s my best skill, look-”

He closed his eyes, focused, and not a moment later, he had mimicked Jacob’s hair, down to the errant curl that swept across his brow. Jacob blinked, his mouth forming a perfect O, before he started to laugh. Grinning, he raised a hand.

“May I?”

Newt tilted his head forward, and allowed Jacob to examine his new hairstyle. Jacob’s broad hands patted at the curls, fingered one, then slipped away in a stream of warmth.

“You got the texture all wrong.” Jacob told him, smiling. “But good effort.”

“I’ll have it down to pat by the end of this trip.” Newt grinned. He then waved his hand out to the open countryside. “Shall we get going? Mother’s place is only down the hill here.”

They walked through the dew-covered grass and the fields of heather in relative quiet. There was barely any sound - the birds were quiet, the grass was still, and the skies were overcast but not raining. Down the hill they went, with Newt helping both Jacob and Queenie avoid the common pitfalls on the slope, such as hidden rabbit warrens and muddy patches. It did not take them long to reach the bottom of the valley, and soon Newt lead them along a narrow path that opened out into a small basin. Nwet crouched near a smooth-looking rock, that glowed a little in the morning light.

“Jacob, could I have your arm?”Newt asked, holding out a hand. “I need to key you into the wards. It’ll sting a bit, I’m sorry.”

Jacob crouched down and held out a hand, looking as if he half-expected Newt to bite it. With a brief apologetic look, Newt made a shallow cut in his own palm, then in Jacob’s and, wincing a little at Jacob’s hiss of pain, pressed them both to the cold rock. The rock flashed a little, before vibrating under their palms as the house of Scamander materialized into view.

“I’m so sorry,” Newt said again, carefully withdrawing his wand to heal Jacob’s cut. “It’s the only ward that worked without requiring magic - it was the only way Mother could get in and out of the house-”

“It’s ok.” Jacob flexed his newly healed hand, and smiled warmly at him. “No harm done. Heal your own hand now.”

As Newt took his wand to his own wound, Jacob got up off the floor, and looked around. Newt’s house exactly how he’d expected a wizarding house to look like - castle-like, with greystone walls and a slate roof. It was about three stories high, and each one looked as if it had been stacked haphazardly on top of one another. At the back spiralled a large tower, nestled in the crook between two floors of the house, the same greystone as before, but with a large spiral of wood encircling it. To the left lay a busy looking garden filled with plants and herbs, and at the back Jacob could just about see the corner of a grassy paddock.

“Newton? Is that you?”

Newt looked, up and waved at a figure striding across the yard. Jacob squinted, but could not see any details until she’d gotten closer. She was small, at least a head shorter than Newt, as thin as a rake and with the same splatter of freckles as Newt had. Her auburn hair cascaded down the back of her brightly coloured robes, and the gold rings on her fingers glittered warmly against her amber skin.

“Mother!” Newt greeted her with a warm, tight hug. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you!” Newt’s mother’s voice was full and bright. “I thought you were staying in America another year yet?”

“Oh, I am going back. Just thought we’d pass through and say hi - we’ve just been to Eldödla.”

“The dragon sanctuary?” She frowned. “Newton, you said you wouldn’t get involved with those dangerous creatures for a while…”

“Oh, it was only for a visit. Jacob, Queenie and I went to deliver a dragon’s egg.” He indicated to Jacob and Queenie, who stood behind him. “You already know Queenie - she’s Tina’s sister.”

“Oh, of course!” She stepped forward, and clasped Queenie’s hands. “Porpentina has been updating me with your exploits.”

“All the good ones, I hope.” Queenie grinned, and they both laughed. Newt then indicated to Jacob.

“And this is Jacob, a muggle baker and a friend of mine-”

“Muggle?” Newt’s mother stepped around to look at him. “He looks like a nice man. You’re not going to Obliviate him, are you?”

“Obliviate?” Jacob frowned, but Newt laid a hand on his arm.

“That’s the forgetting spell.” Newt said in a low voice. “And I already said I wouldn’t.”

He smiled at him, and patted his hand in thanks, before turning back to Newt’s mother. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Scamander.”

“Oh, call me Ciconia.” she replied. “Only the bank-tellers call me Mrs Scamander. It will be so nice to have another non-magical person in the house - it can get awfully lonely sometimes…”

She patted his arm, before letting it drop. “Well, now that we’re all introduced, would you like to come inside? You might need wait a while for tea - your father’s forgotten to catch gnomes for the Hippogriffs again…”

“Gnomes?” Jacob asked, looking at her.

“Pests. They invade the garden, eat my plants and try to live in the basement.” She shuddered. “Awful things. Tell you what, Newt - if I get tea ready, will you do the garden? I'll have time to prepare sandwiches then, maybe some cake...”

“I’ve been back five minutes, and already I have chores?” There was no bite in Newt’s tone, just general contentment. “I’ll get it done in ten minutes.”

“Thank you. You know what will happen if I wait for your father - he’ll forget and forget and forget, and then he’ll get up in the middle of the night and try and do it then.” Ciconia shook her head. “Honestly… Of course, Queenie, Jacob - you can rest inside if you want.”

“Oh, I’d like to help.” Jacob said. “I’ve never seen a gnome before.”

“And I’ll help feed the Hippogriffs - I haven’t seen Rona in ages.” Queenie added. “How is she?”

“Heavily pregnant.” There was clear pride in Ciconia’s voice. “At least two this time.”

Queenie clapped her hands together. “Oh, wonderful! I must go and see her - race you both!”

And with that, she was dashing towards the side gate of the garden. Newt and Jacob rushed to catch up with her, but she was fast, and was already in the garden by the time hey’d caught up. The garden was not like anything Jacob had seen before - the bluebells that climbed the fences on either side seemed to hum by themselves, and some of the plants in the ground moved despite their being no breeze. At the far end of the garden were some plants he did recognize - pumpkins, courgettes, and other root vegetables, along with a small herb garden. More magical plants lay in rows at the front, edged on one side by a small pond with a multitude of plant-life and animal life in it. Jacob bent over a little to investigate a small duck that swum in the pond.

“Is that a Garganey?” he asked, watching it lazily paddle around.

“I don’t know.” Newt crouched near the water reeds. “We call her Mally. Don’t know where she came from, but she can’t fly and she’s very happy here. Father keeps the pond warm for her.”

“Does she have any other ducks to keep her company?”

“Sometimes. Other ducks tend to visit in the summer or autumn, but they migrate out in the cold season.” Newt paused, then his face brightened. “I wonder if... Watch this, Jacob."

Newt screwed up his face for a moment, and Jacob watched as his nose and mouth slowly expanded into a duck's beak. Newt then knelt down properly, and pushed his face through the cat o'nine tails. The duck did not even react, but when he started making quiet duck sounds, an entire row of adolescent ducklings exited the water plants, cheeping curiously. The ducks surrounded Newt's morphed face in investigatory glee, chirping at the beak. Jacob laughed, and squatted down to sit next to him.

"That's not the first time you've done that, is it?" he asked. "The mother duck is absolutely relaxed about it."

Newt raised his eyebrows, and withdrew his face from the reeds. "Did it as a boy." he replied. "She knows I'm no danger."

“He did it _all_ the time.” Queenie moaned, coming over from where she was inspecting one of the flowers. “Imagine having that ugly mug pushed in your home every other week.”

Newt pushed a laughing Queenie into a nearby hedge. The ducklings, evidently disappointed at the lack of entertainment, began to swim back into the reeds. Jacob watched them go with an amused smile, before turning back to Newt.

"So what are these gnomes?" he asked. "I'm guessing they're not the ones we keep as ornaments."

"No. They're... like walking potatoes."

Jacob fully laughed at that, as did Queenie. Newt grinned.

"It's true! They're walking, biting potatoes that like to break into our houses in the winter. And hippogriffs love them."

"Do you two want to find one first?” Jacob asked, shaking his head. “So I know what I'm looking for."

It took Newt and Queenie less than a minute to find one - a rustle in the grass, a few almost inaudible grunts, and Newt was on top of it in an instant. There was a moment of struggling as Newt and the gnome battled for dominance, but soon Newt stood upright, sweaty and smiling, holding a gnome by the toe.

"This is a gnome." Newt said happily. The gnome squirmed in his grip.

"Geroffme! Geroffme!" it squealed, throwing itself this way and that, trying to escape. Newt tightened his hold.

"You shouldn't be here, and you know it." Newt told it sternly. The gnome took no notice. "Now watch, Jacob - we need to throw this over into the paddock. What-"

With a well practiced hand, Newt hurled the gnome over into the paddock. There was a few seconds where the gnome staggered dazedly around the paddock, but then there a loud rumble of hooves on hard ground. With a roar, three of the largest bird-creatures Jacob had ever seen sprung out of the undergrowth. Part bird, part horse, the three hippogriffs charged after the gnome, beaks clicking and wings flapping, racing around the paddock in predatory excitement.

"And that is a Hippogriff." Newt finished, grinning at Jacob. Jacob was stood, mouth agape and rubbing his eyes.

"I… what? How?” The hippogriffs, either having lost or eaten their prey, turned towards them and watched expectantly. “They’re so _big_.”

“These are only big because Ciconia breeds them.” Queenie replied, leaning on the paddock fence. “The reddish-chestnut one is Rona - I named her when I came down to visit Tina for the holidays.”

“And since they’re big, they get _very_ hungry.” Newt was already rootling through the grass for more gnomes. "Come on, help me find some more gnomes… Whoever throws a gnome the furthest gets first pick of the cake!”

  
  
Chapter 8: Hippogriffs

“Ah, Newt.” Ciconia was rolling some kind of dough as she greeted the,  as they traipsed in through the back door of the kitchen after an hour or two of degnoming. “Glad to see you’ve returned. How are the hippogriffs?”

“Looking good, Mum.” Newt hopped up to her, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Rona looks healthy, and the others were just as active as they always are. How’s tea coming along?”

“Should be ready in about half an hour. Oh, that reminds me - Jacob?”

“Yes?” Jacob peered around Newt nervously.

“You’re Jewish, right? Newt mentioned it in his owl yesterday. You eat kosher?”

“Yes.” He shifted a little. “I ‘m sorry if that’s a bit complicated-”

Ciconia waved away his concerns with a wave of her and. “It’s no trouble - I had Tina owl something over. Both her and the girl she’s living with, Leta, they’re both Jewish, so it should be fine. They’re up in the cupboard over there”

She pointed to the top left corner, and Jacob opened it to find several labelled items - oils, meats, milk powder and other prepackaged foods sat packed tight on the shelves. Jacob laughed, and pulled down a box of biscuits, examining the label.

“Mrs Scamander- _Ciconia,_ thank you.” He said, giving her a smile. “You didn’t have to go through so much trouble.”

“It’s nothing. You’re a guest.” She smiled. “I’m making strudel for everyone else, and some pound cake - if you check in the back, I think there’s some pastry there, if you want to make your own.”

“Strudel?” Queenie said, perching on one of the chairs. “I love strudel - is it apple and raisin?”

“Isn’t it always?”

“Do you need any help baking it, Mum?” Newt asked, picking up a spare piece of pastry. “I’ve been practicing my heating charms, and I can plait pretty good- watch-”

Newt withdrew his wand and tapped the spare bit of pastry in his hand, which coiled into a many layered plait. Jacob was rather impressed by the whole thing, but Ciconia took the plait, and eyed it critically.

“You’ve improved,” she said, smirking a little. “But that’s still a knot, not a plait. And the day I let you or your father near my pastry with a warming charm is the day I fancy half-baked pastry.”

“Your harsh words break my heart,” Newt pretended to swoon, throwing Jacob a wink. Ciconia hit him with a floury dishcloth.

“You don’t ever change, boy.” she said, fondly. “Now, if you really want to put your magic to use, go and set the table. And find your father - he’s probably in his tower again, lost in his books.”

“I’ll help too.” Queenie said, and together Newt and Queenie bounded out of the room. Ciconia sighed, and gave Jacob a commiserating look.

“Magic folk.” she sighed, shaking her head. “They want to whip their wand out at the sight of _anything_.”

Tea was a rather informal affair - the Scamander’s dining room was little more than an old wooden table, scarred by the many years of use as a crafts table as well as an eating table. The food they shared was relatively similar - cold beef or boiled egg sandwiches, chunks of fruit, tattie scones, salted potato crisps, vegetable sticks, fruit squash, pound cake and two strudels, a kosher version made by Jacob and another made by Ciconia. Newt sat on one side of Jacob, and meal was interspersed with laughter and idle chatter as they dug in.

Newt’s father didn’t join them until midway through the meal, and he was entirely unlike how Jacob had expected the magical version of a police officer. He was Newt’s height, and just as willowy, wearing bright robes and a matching cap, decorated with moons and stars. Half moon glasses perched on the end of his broad nose, and numerous bangles hing from his pitch black wrists, giving him an altogether geekish look.

“Lachlan,” Ciconia smiled at him. “Your books become less interesting?”

“There’s only so many times you can stare at Latin before your eyes start to go funny.” Lachlan replied, settling down on Ciconia’s left. “And only so long you can ignore the call of pastry. Two strudels today?”

“I only made one. Jacob made the other - he’s a friend of Newt’s.”

“A friend?” Lachlan peered at him. “You’re not a Hogwarts boy, I can tell.”

“No sir.” Jacob replied. “I’m a no-maj.”

“A Muggle.” Newt added. Lachlan’s face cleared.

“Ah yes, that explains it. I hope Ciconia and Newt have made you feel welcome? You too, Ms Goldstein?”

“As they always have.” Queenie replied, swallowing a mouthful of egg sandwiches. “We went to feed Rona and the hippogriffs.”

“Ah, how are they doing? I must’ve forgotten to do that earlier…”

“They’re fine, Dad.” Newt gave him a quick smile around his slice of pound cake. We gave them a good feed - Jacob’s a pretty good shot, managed to catch and throw a whole lot of gnomes for them.”

“Did you know?” He smiled benevolently at Jacob. “I’m afraid I don’t fully share my son and wife’s interest in magizoology - the study of magic is more my field of interest. For example, I’ve been trying to identify the exact mechanism to-”

“Lachlan, dear,” Ciconia interrupted gently. “Plain English, please.”

“Oh, my apologies. I get so wrapped up sometimes.” He cleared his throat. “I’m trying to find a way to travel in time?”

“Time travel?” Jacob’s eyes widened. “That’s possible - with magic?”

“Not with human magic, no.” Lachlan picked up a sandwich and disassembled it on his plate. “Seers, of course, can see into the future, but only one creature can, or appears to see the past.”

“Ystrawrs.” Newt cut himself a slice of strudel. “They’re scavenger birds, that specifically eat nerves and brain matter of the dead. It’s been proven that they travel in time, looking for dead bodies to feed off.”

“I’ve heard of those.” Queenie said, finishing off her pound cake. “Mother used to tell stories about them - ‘war-cloaks’, she called them.”

“Because they tend to travel to and feed on battle sites, where they won’t be noticed.”

“And because they’re somewhat aware that damaging a body that was not killed violently would risk changing time. Lachlan murmured. “They’re able to preserve time, as well as travel through it. And when they are killed, or they die, they simply vanish - leaving behind a residue of what is believed to be a physical remnant of time.”

“And you think you can harness that power?” Jacob asked, frowning. “By using the residue?”

“In a sense. For me, it’s a purely intellectual question - whether it can be done. I suppose someone else will find use of it if I prove it to be true.”

“Even if it is true,” Newt interjected. “The residue isn’t produced in large enough quantities to be of much use. You’d have to kill hundreds of birds to get anything near the amount you need.”

“But wouldn’t the results be worth it?”

“With the amount of destruction time-travel could create?” Newt shook his head. “It’s not worth pursuing.”

To Jacob’s surprise, Lachlan laughed. “This is where Newt and I have differing views. This is not a new argument.”

“And it’s not one we should be having now.” Ciconia said firmly, casting a quick glance outside the window. “How about take some time outside? Enjoy the good weather whilst it lasts.”

“I think I shall-” Lachlan begun, but was silenced with a look from Ciconia.

“Lachlan, I know you like your tower, but you haven’t been outside in five days.” she said, firmly. “Read out in the garden if you must, but get some sun on your skin.”

“If I must.” Lachlan said with a long suffering sigh, but his eyes twinkled in mirth. “Perhaps Newt and his friends can take the hippogriffs out for a ride - it’ll stop them from becoming too rambunctious whilst I’m out there.”

“Oh! That would be brilliant!” Newt’s face lit up at the idea, previous argument forgotten. He turned to Ciconia. “Would that be alright, Mum?”

“Newton, you’re thirty-one, and practically live here most of the year.” Ciconia laughed. “You don’t need to ask my permission to take the hippogriffs out - they’ll appreciate the exercise.”

“Great! Jacob, Queenie, come along-” And with that, Newt bounded out of the door like an over eager child. Queenie and Jacob looked at each other, before coming to a silent agreement to finish their food, before following. Newt was already making a fuss of one of the hippogriffs by the time they’d climbed into the paddock, scritching it happily under the chin.

“You took your time.” Newt told them, laughter in his voice. “Mind your manners now - I think Petra rather needs a chance to spread her wings- Jacob, since it’s your first time, you can come with me.”

“Alright,” he said slowly. “What do I need to do?”

“You need to approach them right, first.” Queenie was the one who answered him. “First you bow, never breaking eye-contact, and wait for them to respond. Watch me.”

Queenie stepped up in front of a magnificent grey Hippogriff, who was watching her from across the way. Looking it straight in the eye, she bowed deeply, and paused at the bottom, waiting. The grey hippogriff cocked its head, seemingly came to a decision, then bowed regally. Queenie straightened up immediately, and walked over, laughing a little as the creature lightly butted her stomach in greeting.

“Alright, Jacob.” Newt said, waving. “Your turn. Come and greet Atlas here.”

Atlas was one of the biggest beasts in the heard - almost as tall as Newt, and three times as wide. Had he been a full-blooded horse, Jacob would’ve pegged him as the breeding stallion. He took a deep breath, before stepping up to him, and taking a deep bow, keeping eye contact. Atlas eyed him with his dark eyes, fluttered his dappled black-and-white feathers, stomped his piebald back legs. Finally, after what seemed like an age, Atlas bowed back, his eyes shutting, allowing Jacob to hesitantly approach.

“Good boy.” Newt murmured to Atlas, gently stroking the back of his neck. As Atlas raised his head, Jacob offered him the back of his hand, which Atlas sniffed, before butting his beak into it. Whatever nervous tension Jacob held in his body left as soon as the smooth beak touched his hand, and he happily gave Atlas a few gentle pats.

“He’s beautiful.” he said. “And rather trusting.”

“Hippogriffs are tenacious creatures.” Newt replied, lowering his hand. “They have an uncanny ability to identify trustworthy people. If he had even the slightest doubt in you, you would not have been allowed to approach. They’re a bit like mind-readers in that sense, like Queenie.”

“You’re a mindreader?” Jacob turned to Queenie, surprised and a little wary.

“It’s called Legillimency, and it’s a bit more complicated than mind-reading.” Queenie swung herself up onto the back of her hippogriff. “And don’t worry - I don’t do it without permission. It’s a bit creepy, wandering around someone’s head without telling them.”

Jacob nodded, and turned back to Newt. “What would you have done if he didn’t bow?”

“Probably would’ve taken you back to America and not spoken to you again.“ Newt paused, staring at the feathers. “I… tend to have bad judgement when it comes to people. It’s gotten me into some amount of trouble. My hippogriffs tend to be a better judge of character.”

“Well, then I’m glad both you and Atlas trust me.” Jacob smiled encouragingly. “I’d hate to be sent home with no word from you.”

“Same here.” Newt smiled hesitantly back. “Come here - let me give you a leg up so you can ride him… have you ever ridden anything before?”

“Donkeys, when I was younger. Not much nowadays.”

“It’s alright - just hold onto me and you’ll be good.” Newt pushed Jacob up onto the back of Atlas’ broad back, bfore swinging himself on in front of the other man. The floor suddenly looked a lot further down on the back of Atlas, and Jacob instinctively clutched at Newt’s waist. Newt gave his hands a comforting pat.

“Right, are you ready Queenie?” Newt asked.

“Of course.” She laughed, a little breathlessly. “I’ll go first - catch me if you can!”

Jacob watched as Queenie was launched into the air by her hippogriff, laughing all the way. Newt watched her go too, before turning to Jacob with a soft smile.

“You ready?” he asked. Jacob drew whatever was left of his courage up and smiled back.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Good. We’ll go on three - one, two, _three-_!”

And with a whoosh of wings, and a shout of _“yah!”_ from Newt, Atlas took off into the late afternoon sky.

 

  



End file.
